Baron

by Joanna Shupe

  The worst part was that she had liked him, had dreamed of the two of them together. Moreover, he’d led her to believe there would be a future for them. I love you, Ava. You’re unlike any woman I’ve ever known.

  Stephen had frequently mentioned the idea of marriage—right up until the moment she became pregnant. It was then Ava learned the hardest lesson of all: No matter what someone told you, you were on your own in this world.

  A weary sigh escaped her lips. No time for those old hurts. She had new hurts to worry about, like the way her feet were aching by the time she arrived home. On top of it all, the evening promised to be an unpleasant one. Dinner would be simple fare tonight—a poached egg and roasted turnips—which would not please her siblings. Unfortunately, Ava hadn’t bought anything else so they had little choice in the matter.

  A delicious smell filled the building as she climbed the steps. Someone had cooked a wonderful meal. Roasted meat, if she wasn’t mistaken. Her stomach growled loudly. One day, that would be her family. Roasted chicken, pork, mutton . . . whatever they could raise on the farm.

  The scent grew stronger, causing her mouth to water, and when she put the key in her door she could’ve sworn the tantalizing odor was from her own lodgings. Must be her imagination.

  She entered and stopped short. The hunger in her stomach knotted into confusion. Her three siblings were gathered around the kitchen table, a half-eaten roasted pheasant sitting proudly on the scarred wooden tabletop.

  “Ava,” Sam said through a mouth full of food. “Look what Tom brought home.”

  She dropped her carpetbag to the floor with a thud. Her gaze snapped to her oldest sibling, whose expression held a mixture of defiance and pride. Oh, no. Tell me he didn’t. Disappointment and anger closed her throat.

  “Come and sit,” Mary said, stabbing more meat on her plate. “It’s heavenly.”

  Eating was the very last thing on her mind. “Tom, I’d like to speak with you in the bedroom.”

  “Not now. Pheasant’s still warm.” Tom shoved a large bite past his lips, chewing through a smug smile that had Ava gritting her teeth.

  “Yes, now. The pheasant can wait.”

  They stared at each other, neither speaking, but Ava was determined. She would not back down, would not condone this, and Tom knew her well enough to realize when he was beat. He wiped his hands on a napkin, placed the cloth on the table, and stood. Heels tapping on the wood floor, Ava hurried to the bedroom.

  Tom came in behind her and shut the door. He lifted his hands. “Before you start—”

  “How did you get the money?”

  “Ava, hear me out before you—”

  “Where did you get the money?”

  “Working.” He crossed his arms over his bony chest.

  “Not at the factory. So what type of employment allowed you to make enough money for that?” She gestured in the direction of the dining area.

  “I helped the boys with some of their evening duties.”

  “Boys meaning b’hoys—the ones in a gang that steal. Did you pick pockets, Tom?” He raised his chin and didn’t answer. “Don’t lie to me,” she told him. “That’s the one thing we promised each other when Mama and Papa died. No lying.”

  A muscle in his jaw clenched. “Yes, stealing. They let me keep what I found, once I learned the trick of it. And you would not believe how much money I found.”

  “You didn’t find it,” she snarled. “You stole it. Don’t you see the difference? And that’s what these gangs do—they let you keep what you steal at first so it seems impossibly lucrative. Once you join, however, you’ll be forced to turn over a percentage of your take to someone else. You’re naïve if you believe differently.”

  “I am not naïve, and I don’t mind turning over a percentage. Do you know how much money I had today? I took in over—”

  “I don’t want to know,” she bit out. “And instead of saving that money for a better future for all of us, you went out and bought the most expensive meat you could find.”

  “Oh, so I shouldn’t be stealing, but if I do I should save the money for the family to move to some mythical farm upstate. Which is it, Ava?”

  “I don’t want you stealing. You’ll get arrested, not to mention it’s wrong.”

  “Yeah? Well, what you do ain’t exactly on the up and up. I don’t see why it’s fine for you to swindle people and I can’t pick a pocket once in a while. There’s no difference, least not to my eye.”

  “It won’t be once in a while after this gang gets you in deeper. It will be a full-time job, Tom. And I don’t swindle people.”

  Their eyes held, a battle of wills Ava sensed slipping out of her control. When had her brother turned so stubborn?

  His lips twisted in a cynical, disbelieving smile. “My pheasant is growing cold.” He turned and jerked open the door. Nausea churning in her stomach, Ava watched him sit back down and attack the pheasant.

  She had to get them all the hell out of here—and soon.

  * * *

  A knock on his office door sounded a second before it opened, and Will glanced up from the contract he was reviewing. John Bennett and his political advisor, Charles Tompkins, walked in, while Will’s assistant, Frank, stood just beyond the threshold. Will rose and waved them all in. “Come in, I’m ready.”

  The two candidates, along with Tompkins, met in Will’s office every Wednesday morning. Here, they plotted their campaign to take over Albany. After handshakes were traded all around, they sat down.

  Bennett had been elected as a U.S. senator in ’81, where he served until ’86. Tompkins had been with the former senator a long time, the two of them friends from Yale, and Tompkins had assumed the role of political advisor somewhere along the way. Probably as a way to earn a convenient dollar. Will and Tompkins didn’t always agree, but Will was the supporting actor in the troupe so he’d learned to defer when necessary. He knew Bennett and Tompkins only wanted him on the ticket for the prestige of the Sloane name, which Will didn’t mind because he had far grander plans. This was merely a stepping-stone.

  Nevertheless, he didn’t care for Tompkins. Despite Will’s repeated protests, Tompkins had done nothing about Madam Zolikoff’s presence in Bennett’s life. Tompkins held fast to the belief that no disastrous consequences would result from the medium’s association with Bennett. Will wholeheartedly disagreed. The other political parties would look for any weakness, any aberration at all, to use as fodder for a smear campaign in the final weeks before the election.

  “We have a location for the convention,” Tompkins started, and Frank began taking notes in a small book. “It’ll be the Saratoga skating rink. So I was thinking we’d hold our own rally there in late July. Get a jump on the crowd. Won’t be a problem for you, will it, Sloane?”

  They were assuming he’d spend the summer in Newport, as he did every year. However, he’d done that to humor Lizzie, so she would have a summer similar to those of other girls in her circle. But she was Cavanaugh’s now, and Will saw no reason to open the cottage just for himself. “No. I’ll remain in the city.”

  “Good,” Bennett said, smiling widely as if he’d expected Will to refuse. “Tompkins will get it all set up, and we’ll let you know the date.”

  “That’s fine. What do we know about the other conventions?”

  “Prohibition is meeting June twenty-sixth in Syracuse, as expected. Dems are gathering in Buffalo on September twelfth, but we don’t know where. No doubt Robert Murphy will receive the nomination, with the might of Tammany Hall behind him. Labor will also be in September, but I’m not worried about them.”

  “I’m not sure you’re correct about Murphy,” Will said. “He’s not as popular, considering he spoke out against the reform bill.” The Republicans had tried to pass a bill to stop the rampant election fraud in New York State, and anyone connected with Tammany Hall, the powerful political machine, had vehemently opposed it. What did that say about how politics worked in the Empire State?


  “Doubtful,” Tompkins responded. “Members of Tammany forced that veto because it would have hurt their own practices, paying the Irish to vote Democrat. Anyway, we can’t focus on Murphy yet. We’ve got to secure the nomination first.”

  Will wasn’t worried about that. Bennett had a gift with crowds, and Will was the well-known businessman bringing cheap, efficient transportation to the masses. Everywhere he went in the state, people shook his hand and thanked him for providing a way for them to visit Aunt Martha or dear, dying Cousin Sally. Railroads had changed the way Americans lived, and Will had played an integral part of that transformation. If this continued, securing the nomination would not be a problem.

  The real hurdle was overcoming Robert Murphy and Tammany Hall, considering the iron grip the organization maintained over New York politics. Because to enact any real change for the people of this state, to bring a better way of life to the masses, the corruption and exploitation had to stop.

  “Any updates on the Albany rally?” Will asked.

  “Should be as we discussed. The Bennett Band will be on hand,” he said, referring to the campaign club name the local Republicans had given themselves. “You’ll have the parade, followed by a barbecue, then speeches and handshakes.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll travel up early that morning.”

  From there, they talked more political matters, from speculation on opponents to tentative dates for additional rallies. Topics to hit hard in the speeches. Bennett remained quiet, letting Tompkins do most of the talking, as usual. When the conversation drew to its natural conclusion, Tompkins said, “Bennett, will you give Sloane and me a moment alone?”

  This was not an altogether unusual request, so Bennett nodded, shook Will’s hand, and left. Will tipped his chin at Frank, who quickly collected his things and retreated. When the two men were alone, Tompkins leaned back in his chair. “I heard you arrived at Bennett’s home while the medium was there.”

  “Yes, I did, and you know why.”

  Tompkins sighed, his heavy mustache quivering. “We’ve discussed this. She keeps him . . .” He seemed to search for the right word. “Grounded. Bennett is a great speaker and an even better politician. People like him. Before he found Madam Zolikoff, though, he was as skittish as a three-day colt. Convinced everyone was out to get him. Didn’t trust anyone or anything. Yet in the year since he found her, he’s focused and determined. Do you hear what I am saying?”

  “Yes, I do. But I know how these people operate. She is either mining him for secrets she’ll use for blackmail, or she works for the opposition and will publicly embarrass him. Either way, all three of us lose.”

  “You’ve said as much before, Sloane, and I do not agree. The girl is harmless.”

  Harmless? Ava was anything but harmless. Will thought of a husky voice that could drive a man mad with lust. A generous bosom that begged for a man’s hands and mouth. And lips . . . those goddamn fantasy-inducing lips. The woman was man’s destruction wrapped in a petticoat.

  He cleared his throat. “My reputation will suffer every bit as much as Bennett’s—if not more so—when this woman decides to use him for profit. Therefore, if you will not do anything about it, I will. I plan to convince the girl to back off. Let him find another medium after the election is over.”

  “He doesn’t want another medium. Took him forever to find one he liked. I’m telling you to leave it alone. You’ll only make things worse.”

  Will clenched his fist on the desk. He did not take orders from anyone, least of all this man. It was one thing to follow directions for the campaign, but Will would be damned if Tompkins had sway in any other area of his life.

  “I am perfectly aware of why you want me in this race,” Will said, leaning forward. “My name lends a certain weight to the ticket, and you’re counting on my connections to help secure the governorship—but my name means nothing if I become a public laughingstock. Which is precisely what will happen when that swindler gets Bennett to say something he shouldn’t.”

  “You’re right. I do want your name on the ticket, but don’t forget that Bennett has top billing. He’s valuable to me, so let me worry about the people in his life. All you need to do is show up and look handsome.”

  Will’s lip started to curl, and he forced it back in place. Tompkins treated Will as if he were a man about town, a swell incapable of holding a serious thought in his head. The damned idiot. Will had been at the helm of a large company since he was sixteen. Earned a degree from Columbia University while building the Northeast Railroad empire and fighting his way out from underneath his father’s shadow. He’d proven himself a formidable leader, just as he would in this case. No more reading the speeches Tompkins prepared for him and following blindly. Will would control his own campaigning from now on.

  He rose and slipped his hands in his pockets. “You handle the campaign, Tompkins. Let me worry about my name and those determined to ruin it.”

  Chapter Five

  The carriage pulled up in front of Twelve Washington Square, a large mansion at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Washington Square North. Five stories of red brick and white marble, the eminent structure boasted a columned portico in front and a sturdy black iron fence around the perimeter. It spoke of elegance and social status, a world apart from Ava’s existence.

  Even in the lamplight, the façade appeared every bit as cold and proper as its owner. “Here you go, miss,” the driver called. She quickly pulled coins out of the purse clipped to her waistband and opened the door. “Thank you.” After she handed over the fare, she hurried up the walk.

  The front door opened before she touched the knocker. A proper butler—wearing a uniform that probably cost more than her yearly rent—regarded her with obvious disapproval. “Good evening, miss. While I am certain you are collecting for a worthy cause, we ask that you pay your call during daylight hours.”

  “I am not collecting for a cause. I am here to see Mr. Sloane.”

  The butler’s expression turned even more forbidding. “And who shall I say is calling?”

  Most social callers would present a card, but Ava was fresh out. As in had never had any printed. “Please tell him Ava is here.”

  “I shall see if Mr. Sloane is receiving.” The door closed firmly in her face and she suffered the indignity of being left on the stoop, though everything in her wanted to flee.

  Fleeing was not an option, however. Ava had nowhere else to turn, not if she wanted to help her brother. Tom had been arrested earlier today.

  Despite her warnings, all she’d made him promise, her brother had been taken in for picking pockets near Union Market. He was currently sitting in the Thirteenth Precinct, along with two of his gang members, so-called friends who had made an already bad situation worse. The other two boys were well-known thieves, so the police didn’t believe Ava that Tom was not a part of this gang. She’d begged and pleaded, but they had refused her request to release her brother. Gangs of thieves were not tolerated, especially not ones with several previous run-ins with the roundsmen.

  “These boys are a blight on our city,” the sergeant had said. “I’m sorry, miss, but these gangs need to learn their lesson. And sending ’em to the Tombs for a few months oughta do that.”

  Her stomach roiled anew. Dear God, the Tombs. It was New York City’s worst, roughest prison. If Tom went inside, no telling when—or if—he’d be released. She needed to get her brother cleared before he was sentenced.

  Which meant someone with enough political and social influence must force the police to listen to reason, to make them understand that Tom was a young, misguided fifteen-year-old—not a hardened criminal. That he hadn’t meant to steal. That all of this was really her fault for not getting her family out of the city years ago.

  Only two men of her acquaintance possessed the clout for such an endeavor—and John Bennett had already left for Yonkers.

  She swallowed hard, knowing Sloane would never agree to help her, not out of the go
odness of his heart. No doubt Ava would need to give him something in exchange, such as the promise to stay away from John Bennett. She hated to be in this position, but she had no choice. She’d gladly give up taking John’s money in order to get her brother out of prison.

  After all, keeping her from Bennett was what Will had wanted from the start. So if he helped her, she’d agree to anything he asked—and afterward he’d never see or hear from her again.

  The heavy wood slid open again. The butler stared down at her, disapproval etched on his haughty face. “You may come in. Mr. Sloane will see you in his office.”

  Relief propelled her forward, and she nearly tumbled into the entryway. The butler offered to take her coat. Once she shrugged out of it, he led her through one of the most elegant, gorgeous homes she’d ever seen. Black marble, parquet floors, crown molding. Dark, large furniture lined the walls—pristine walls free of marks and handprints. No doubt the staff worked all day to keep the space clean. This was where Will had grown up? An upbringing of this type seemed inconceivable to her.

  Deeper into the house, then the butler knocked on a paneled oak door. A clipped voice rang out from the other side, “Enter.”

  The butler held open the panel and gestured for Ava to step in, so she squared her shoulders and marched forward. She found Will Sloane pacing behind an enormous desk, barking orders. Two men sat in chairs on the other side, both furiously scribbling notes.

  Ava waited while Will gave them directives on contract terms, grain prices, transport costs, and a parcel of property in San Francisco he wanted to buy. During this time, she glanced around his study, trying to calm her racing heart. A masculine space, with worn furniture and stacks of papers, the room seemed well used. Rows of books lined the walls while a cheerful fire burned in the grate, the orange light bouncing off the gold accents like topaz. She liked this room far better than anything else she’d seen tonight.